


Rapture

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Anal Sex, Inline with canon, M/M, Moral Bankruptcy, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sadism, Spoilers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-11-13 10:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18029630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Kirei can feel the heat of the flames against his skin, burning hot like sunshine crisping winter-pale flesh." In the aftermath of war, Kirei finds a satisfaction he has never let himself indulge in before.





	Rapture

The world is alight.

Kirei can feel the heat of the flames against his skin, burning hot like sunshine crisping winter-pale flesh. He still bears the weight of his robes against his body, however torn and tattered those may be in the wake of the fight from which he has just emerged, but the heat presses through it, until he imagines he must be glowing red from the burn against a body made sensitive by the damage he has sustained. It is painful, in the distant way that physical injuries have always felt to Kirei, but he doesn’t pay it any more attention than the neutral calculation he has ever offered to his physical state. His body is no more than a shell, nothing but a machine to be urged to act his will upon reality, and he has never felt that as keenly as he feels it now.

He doesn’t think he has ever before had something else to so thoroughly dominate his attention as he does right now.

“ _Yes_ ,” Archer groans, tilting his head back and moaning down in the depths of his chest as he moves over Kirei’s lap to rock himself back and onto the length of the other’s cock. His bare skin is kissed by the flames more than consumed by them, burnished to a gold to match any of the array of weapons and treasures which he has claimed as his own; but it’s not the shift of Archer’s hips that grasps Kirei’s attention any more than it is the sound of the other’s voice breaking open onto a heat the more striking for how human it sounds. Kirei and Archer’s relationship is one of mutual benefit, one that will persist only so long as they both find satisfaction from it, but Kirei is not about to complain about Archer making use of his body when he himself is gaining such transcendent joy from the effect of their joined efforts.

“There.” Kirei lifts a hand to press over Archer’s parted lips and stall the moans of pleasure the other is spilling into the shadows of night that they have rent asunder with the effect of their work, with the release of the Grail and the blood and violence that have followed. Archer’s head comes down at once, his eyes narrowing on what would be warning for someone who cared more than Kirei does, but Kirei’s attention is elsewhere, wandering down the smoke-filled streets around them now that it has been set free from the distraction of Archer’s movement and voice. “Did you hear that?”

Archer’s jaw shifts, his teeth tear. Kirei looks back to the Servant straddling his lap, meeting the blood-crimson anger in the other’s eyes before he draws his hand back. There’s blood trickling from his palm, dripping to spill deep scarlet that soaks and vanishes into the dark of his robes, but Kirei doesn’t look down to consider the mark of Archer’s teeth dug into a neat arc against the skin of his hand.

Archer tosses his head. “If you ever try to silence me again I will kill you where you sit,” he says. His voice is calm in spite of the heat in his eyes; Kirei meets his gaze without flinching from the promise-proof in the other’s stare. Archer looks down at him from the few inches’ advantage of his height, clad in nothing but the smoke winding down the street and his own unblemished skin, and looking as entirely regal as if he were draped in all the opulence that his attitude demands. Even the heat of his cock straining at his hips seems an expression of his self-assurance more than an indication of the weakness of desire it might appear, on someone else with more need of others than the being currently making use of Kirei as he is made use of himself. “Do you understand me, Kotomine Kirei?”

Kirei ducks his head into a nod that has agreement and nothing of surrender. “Yes.”

Archer lifts his chin into the light overhead. “Good,” he says, and reaches to brace a hand against Kirei’s shoulder. The weight pins the fabric close to the other’s body but there is no warmth with it, or at least no more warmth than what the flickering flames of the burning city have already branded into Kirei’s flesh. Archer’s fingers tighten with force as if he’s pinning Kirei down as much as steadying himself, and when he moves his whole body arches with it, rocking through a sinuous motion that lets the light play to shadows off his spine and across the gold of his hair stained red by the light. “Now. What was it that you thought you heard?”

Kirei turns his head. “It was--” and then it comes again, a wail this time instead of the whimper it must have been before, when the catch and gasp of it pulled his attention to the side initially. It’s a child, he thinks, or perhaps a woman with her voice made young again on the pain of loss and hurt and suffering. There’s a bright expanse to it, the sound of it torn open with complete disregard for the strain Kirei is sure it must be doing to the victim’s throat, the blood-tinged coughing that will surely follow. He cannot see the cause of the sound, can only make a guess as to the reason for that wail of agonized misery; but the sound speaks loudly enough all alone, clearly as fingers trailing over his skin and pressing in and over the knotted strain at his thighs. Kirei’s legs jerk, his body pulling up with the involuntary force of the desire that spikes through him, and over him Archer moans with grace enough to give away the polish on the sound even as his lips part around the flicker of a smirk.

“I ought to have known,” he says, as warm and pleased as if he truly is speaking to himself instead of for Kirei’s hearing. He might be in truth; Kirei’s attention is elsewhere, and Archer is hardly the type to waste his breath for an inattentive audience. “All that time trying to seduce you and it was as easy as this.” Archer’s hand slides sideways to cradle the side of Kirei’s neck; the gesture is closer to possessive than affectionate, more laying claim to the other’s body than an expression of any kind of tenderness. “All your ardor required was the flames of hell to stir it to heat.”

Kirei doesn’t answer. He’s still looking down the street, still watching for the rising keen of loss and pain and agony; he notices Archer only distantly, as the other purrs a laugh and resumes the steady motion he has been working himself towards, the rhythm that drags the grip of his body up and over Kirei’s length to offer the simple pleasure of physical comfort. Kirei has been aware of the sensation, in the distant, cold way he is always aware of his body, at the same remove that has kept the flicker of heat playing around them from offering any real sense of danger to his present mind; now, with the echo of a stranger’s anguish ringing in his ears, he can feel his heart beginning to speed, can feel his skin prickling with the start of heat of his own making, rather than that borrowed from his surroundings. His cock swells, heated by the persuasion of his own mind now rather than the bland encouragement of simple physical sensation, and when Archer moves again Kirei’s hips come up to meet him as quickly as the other’s body slides down.

“Mm,” Archer hums, the sound low and rippling in the depths of his chest. “You’re getting it now.” His weight rocks back, he braces himself farther over the support of his knees instead of close atop Kirei; when he arches the curve of his spine, Kirei lifts his hands to clasp at the other’s waist and set his hands to steady Archer’s weight. Archer tips back at once, curving himself into elegance built on the fixed point of Kirei’s hold, but Kirei is holding him steady more against the motion of his own hips than in pursuit of the beauty Archer is forming from the line of his body and the play of the firelight spilling over him like wine. There _is_ beauty there, both the classical variety Kirei has always recognized and never felt and something deeper, darker, winding sinuous suggestion behind Archer’s crimson eyes and turning the gold of his hair as red as if it’s the flames rising from the buildings around them. But Kirei has already submitted to the temptation offered at the tips of Archer’s outstretched fingers, and what is left is to reap the fruit of the destruction they have sown.

Archer groans when Kirei’s hips thrust up, when the force of the other’s body is strong enough to overcome his own rhythm and press connection deep within the other. Kirei glances at him long enough to see Archer’s lips part as if in pleading, to see the weight of the other’s lashes angle shadow across his brilliant eyes; and then there’s another scream, this the sharp-edged wail of physical agony, and Kirei’s own head goes back, his vision dropping to darkness as his eyelids shut under the weight of the pleasure that soars through him. His cock jumps, his thighs work, and when Archer’s fingers at his shoulder tighten Kirei answers in kind, thrusting up to drive himself into the grip of the other’s body at a pace that Archer matches with ease. Archer shifts with consummate grace, his body made lithe by the heat of arousal swelling in his cock and tense in his thighs; Kirei is rough, direct with all the brutal immediacy of a youth first coming to knowledge of his own completion, and yet they fit together perfectly, the weight of a bow and the snap of the string, the steadiness of the gaze and the flex of the fingers. Kirei’s hands dig in harder, his thumbs pressing to Archer’s hips to support the full weight of the other’s lean body, and Archer lets his hand at Kirei’s shoulder fall to lay claim to the grip of his own arousal as the press of his hips goes on working his form over Kirei’s. His fingers tighten against his shaft, his grip strokes up with the certain force of much experience, and Kirei feels the tension of Archer’s body clenching on pleasure as clearly as he hears the throaty moan Archer offers to the bloodstained and fire-ravaged street.

“Yes,” he groans, his head turned up towards the sky, his lips parted to make a prayer of his pleasure, or perhaps a curse, blasphemy voiced to a god too absent or too uncaring to stop either of them in their pursuits. “Yes, Kotomine, this is what I wanted, _you_ are what I wanted, this is--” as he cuts himself off with another moan, this one accompanied by a strain in his thighs and an angle of his shoulders as if his bones are melting formless under the effect of desire in him. “ _This_ is the wish I have desired.”

Kirei is moving without thought, his body shifting to thrust up into Archer on some base instinct that nonetheless bleeds and burns in time with the sound of screams distant and near alike, proof of the suffering and blood and death and pain that surrounds them both. “I,” he says, and tastes the possession of that word, that ownership of an identity he has too-long denied, has too long sought to overwrite, to hide, to escape. He was a shell, a hollow vessel drained of all that might give him life and shape and substance; now, with the wail of dying screams in his ears and the cracking of burning homes illuminating Archer’s golden skin to bloody red, he feels as heavy-full as a goblet filled to the brim, as a form straining to contain the over-large presence burning within him. His body is moving, his thighs flexing and cock straining and balls aching; but his head is quiet, echoing with the epiphany that has lost none of its force for the acceptance he has made of himself for it.

“Yes,” Kirei says. “I like this.” And his hips jerk up, his cock throbs with heat, and Kirei groans a sound from the deepest point of his body as the eclipse of his orgasm spends all the dregs of his self-restraint with it. Over his lap Archer curves, bent back against the resistance of Kirei’s hands as if he’s testing their strength; between them his grip tightens, his cock spurts an arc of heat to stain the dark of Kirei’s robes. Kirei feels Archer spasm around him, hears the groan of pleasure in the strain of the other’s throat, but even though his eyes are open he’s not seeing Archer any more than he’s seeing the burning city around them. His vision is filled with flames, crimson as blood and hot as damnation, and when Kirei opens his mouth it’s to spill a laugh that pulls itself into long peals of endless delight to join in harmony with the screams of loss and pain and suffering around them.

He never expected hell to feel so heavenly.


End file.
